Poetic hymn. While imagination takes shape, At the bottom of a spirit, creativity, Sometimes win by its originality, Or the authenticity of pure feeling, And touches the poetry of the heart. With sound words, About the wealth of the style, The instinctive hatching of talent, Made relive the purity of language, Towards the correctness where the rhythm harmonizes. So be free in the expression, Give to the writing an alchemy, That touches the silence of a soul. But under the impulses of moderation, The shocking dreams are banned, Such a sepulchre of an illustrious unknown artist, Where the work dies on this ghost ship. This level-headedness where we put down the intellect, Papers are banished, which disturb the thoughts, In the madness colors the head of reason, Of an enjoyment forgotten on the smile of tears, Of this shiver which is only a disgust, Springs a dumbness as a death sentence.